


The First Three Times

by MsMxyzptlk



Category: Alex Wolff - Fandom
Genre: Alex Wolff - Freeform, Catalina Island, Essentially this is one long date, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Mention of Past Sexual Assault, Romance, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-04
Updated: 2017-04-04
Packaged: 2018-10-14 17:48:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10541463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMxyzptlk/pseuds/MsMxyzptlk
Summary: Alex takes you to Catalina Island for a big long date. Fun times!





	

**Author's Note:**

> Almost all of the scenery of Catalina Island described in this story is for real. Except for the Japanese/sushi restaurant. Catalina really needs one.

“I...think I’m going to barf.”

Alex gives a pitch-perfect imitation of the pregnant cop in the movie “Fargo.” Unfortunately, it’s not entertaining because he is telling the truth.

He has his hand over his mouth, and his olive skin is growing more, well, olive. The large passenger boat that you’re riding on rises and falls, rises and falls, as it cuts though the waters between Long Beach and Catalina Island.

What are you and Alex, two resolute New Yorkers, doing here? First, you wanted a change of scenery. As a child, you lived in Los Angeles and had been to Catalina with your family several times. You told Alex about the gentle charms of the small island community, and he was intrigued.

“Let’s do it,” he’d said in the get-up-and-go voice that had started many an adventure. So you got up and went, over three thousand miles from home. Now Alex looks like he’s regretting it.

You open the file cabinets of your mind and think of anything that might help him with his seasickness. And then...

“Pretzels.”

Alex lifts his eyelids weakly.

“When I got seasick as a child, my mother gave me pretzels. I think the salt and dryness help. I’ll go get some from the snack bar.”

“I’d suck a donkey’s dick to stop feeling this way.” Alex folds his arms on the table between you and him and hides his face in them.

“Okay.” You squeeze his hand. “I’ll be right back.”

You go over to the snack bar and buy a small bag of pretzels for him. They are the thick nugget kind, not your preferred shape, but a pretzel is a pretzel and Alex needs some now.

When you bring the pretzels back to Alex, he grasps the bag weakly.

“Thanks.” Still keeping his head low, he opens the bag with his teeth and scoops pretzels into his mouth with his tongue.

“Hey.” He lifts his head. “This is kinda helping.”

“I’m glad.” You smile as Alex’s face slowly moves back to the pink spectrum.

“Can’t be barfing out when...” He notices a group of children playing around you and leans into your ear.  
“We’re on laycation.”

This trip to Catalina was more than adventure or nostalgia. It would be the setting for a profound transformation.

You and Alex had not had sex yet. Sex as in having had physical genital contact. It came close to happening recently. Very close. But Alex said that he felt weird doing it in his childhood bedroom.

So here you are, far from home, far from family, traveling to the place where you will participate in the ritual that to some people is NBD. Not to you and Alex.

“This ain’t casual. No fucking way,” he’d told you when you were booking the plane tickets and hotel reservations. “This is special. The special that you deserve.”

Special.

You have all sorts of concerns of what it will be like when it finally happens. You want him to enjoy it, because you love him. You don’t have high expectations for your own pleasure, at least not this first time. You’re not worried about it hurting. You are worried about being so scared that you can’t let him in.

_Don’t be scared. It’s Alex. He’ll never hurt you. You will be safe._

You reach out and take his hand. He smiles back at you. He doesn’t know that you reached for him for reassurance, but his smile makes you feel secure just the same.

_That’s it. Let his glow keep you warm, keep you remembering who he is._

You keep on holding his hand until you feel the boat slowing down. You glance out of the window.

“We’re here.”

His gaze turns to the window, too.

“Just in time. I ran out of pretzels.”

You reach under your table and grab the handles of your small overnight suitcases. Yours is red, and Alex’s is black with a few band stickers on it. He also brings an acoustic travel guitar in a black nylon bag, which he slings over his shoulder. He takes your hand, you lower your sunglasses over your eyes, and you walk off the gangplank with all of the other passengers.

The side of the island which faces the mainland contains the town of Avalon. The arch of the bay holds about ten rows of personal boats, owned by people who use them to travel back and forth to the mainland. Multi-storied houses, typical of California mountains, cling to the upper levels like barnacles. A long pier bearing teal-painted businesses is visible to our right.

“Man. This is...” Alex strokes the dark stubble on his chin. “Beachy.”

“No duh.” You tickle him playfully.

“It’s like Marina del Rey, only in the other direction.”

“You’ve been in Marina del Rey?”

“Babe, my parents are in show business. I know SoCal, at least the mainland.” He stops in his tracks and takes a deep breath. “But this...this is new. Thanks for bringing me here.” He kisses your forehead firmly.

It was he who actually brought you here and paid for everything, but you say,

“You’re welcome, Alex. This will be an adventure.”

_Both in the outer space of the island and the inner space of your room...well, let’s not think about that right now._

“Whoa,” says Alex. “What’s that big round white building down there?”

“It’s the Casino Ballroom.” You smile at him, happy at being able to teach him something. “It’s a classic venue. They had big bands playing there from the 1940s, and even today they still hold concerts.”

“You don’t say.” He smiles. “Hold on a minute.”

He takes his iPhone out of his pocket and takes a picture of the Casino Ballroom. He taps a few more buttons. You take a look at the screen. He is texting the photo to his brother, whom he plays music with.

“You’re not supposed to think about work while we’re here.” You give him a mock pout.

“Maybe not music work. But believe me, baby, I’m gonna work like a motherfucker once we close the hotel door tonight.”

You feel blood rushing to your cheeks, and it makes them tingle. Alex is a master at using his words the right way, at the right time. He can bring tears to your eyes with a joke so dirty you can taste the minerals in your mouth. He can bring tears to your eyes with a tender love song that melts your heart. For both, you adore him.

* * *

You have booked a room in a bed-and-breakfast up one of the streets. It’s in a charming, two-story Cape Cod building painted storm gray with white and blue trim. When you step inside, you see a brick fireplace, a large dining table, a comfy couch upholstered in tan velour, and a grand piano similar to the one in Alex’s living room back in New York.

“I’m gonna put my hands on that,” he promises.

You check in and go upstairs to your room. It is an adorable room. It contains cream-painted walls, an overhead fan, sepia-toned photos of local landmarks on the walls, and a bathroom on the side with a shower and a clawfoot tub. The king-sized brass bed is covered with a white comforter with a pattern of blue seashells.

 _This is the place where it’s going to happen,_ you realize.

Alex leans his guitar against the wall and jumps up and throws himself on the bed, back first.

“Wow.” He spread his arms and legs wide. “This is one fine-ass room. C’mere.”

You lie down next to him, and he wraps an arm around you.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs into your hair.

“I love you, too, Alex.” You place your hand on his dark blue T-shirt.

“I can’t wait until tonight.” His fingers stroke your hair gently. “I guess I can tell you now. On the day we met, I went to bed and stroked it thinking about you.”

“Really?” You raise your eyebrows. He was into you that soon?

“I stroked it so hard that I hit my head against the wall. You damn near gave me a concussion, you dangerously sexy girl.”

“Wow. I hope you added extra pillows next time.”

“I put some of my stuffed animals to work. I put my little doggie between my legs to cuddle my balls.”

The little brown doggie...with its little stumpy legs...holding Alex’s sack as he worked his thang...you lick your lips at the image those words put in your mind.

“I...uhhhh...I sometimes play with myself while listening to some of your songs.”

“Ooooh. Which ones?”

You blush. “‘It’s Just Love’ and ‘The Way it Seems’ and ‘Rules.’ Your teen songs, not your kid songs.” Your finger strokes his belly. “Once, I played ‘It’s Just Love’ three times.”

“Well. That’s something to put in the brain files...just in case.”

He wraps his arms around you and kisses you over and over and over again with the full pink lips and the little brown mole that you adore. You reach out for him, holding on and wrapping your legs around him. He rolls over onto you, sliding his tongue into your mouth. His hips lie between your legs, and you can feel hardness growing...

“Do you want to do it now?” you ask.

He sighs.

“It depends on what part of my body you’re asking. If you ask my head, it says, ‘let’s do it when we’re both ready.’ If you ask my stomach, it says, ‘Get some food in my bellah!’ If you ask my dick, it says...” He whispers into your mouth. “... _pussy pussy pussy pussy pussy_...Sorry, that’s one of the only two words it knows. The other is ‘piss.’”

“Those are the only words it needs to know.”

“That’s a good thing. Imagine if it could write songs, too...” He laughs and shakes his head. “It sucks so hard to be a dick/You live in his Hanes with his farts...”

You both collapse in laughter.

“Ah, but it’s time for prudence. If we start doing it now, we ain’t stopping for shit. It’s getting close to dinner time, and I made reservations to an awesome Italian restaurant. I think both of our bellies will be happy if we ate first.”

Your belly can’t argue with that.

“This’ll be the appetizer before the main course...the main _inter_ course.” 

* * *

The two of you get out of your travel outfits and put on your dinner clothes. You had brought two dresses made of a soft, non-wrinkling material for this trip. The one you’re wearing now is violet with cap sleeves and a high waistline. You wear elastic black patent flats, because you knew you’d be doing some walking even at date time, and a necklace with a thick chain and a pewter charm in the shape of your first initial.

Alex wears black skinny jeans, a white formal shirt with the top three buttons loose, a black linen blazer, and black loafers with thin neon orange socks.

“Shall we?” He offers his arm to you.

“We shall.” You link your arm with his, and off you go. Down the stairs of your bed and breakfast, out the door and into the street.

The sun is just slipping into the horizon. It is the magical hour between the bright of day and the dark of night, the time when the sky is most diverse in color – pale violet with swirling pink and orange clouds. Some of the businesses have their night lighting on already, creating dabs and streaks of color that frame the path around you.

You lean your head and shoulder into Alex. He smiles, and holds your arm tighter.

Life is good. You are young, you are in love, you’re going to feed your belly, and then you’re going to feed your...

You blush. Even in your head, you still can’t form the word.

Then, Alex’s voice breaks in. Not from the outside, but the inside. He can say what you can’t.

_Pussy._

You giggle.

“What’s so funny?” Alex tugs at your hand.

“I’m going to get so fed tonight – and so are you.”

You kiss him on the lips. He laughs, and grips your shoulder. You’re giving the people around you a PDA, and you don’t care.

“You sexy girl.”

Then, he stops walking.

“Here we are.”

Alex points to a round green sign with green lettering, the logo of the best Italian restaurant on the island.

We go in, and Alex announces our reservation to the host. The host scoops up two menus and leads you to the front patio, which is divided from the sidewalk with a black cast-iron barrier.

The host takes you to a two-top round marble table with European-style wicker chairs and a maroon umbrella over it. The table is close to the barrier, and it has a view of the harbor with tall palm trees reaching for the sky and the reflection of the boat lights dancing in the water. The sight takes your breath away.

“Oh, Alex...”

“The best table in the house.”

He pulls out your chair, and you sit down glowing with gratitude. The table is topped with bread plates, white napkins, water goblets, and a small white vase containing a single rose and baby’s breath.

The host places the menus on the table. They are encased in red leatherette material. Alex opens the drink menu.

“This is an easy choice. The usual?”

“The usual.”

A waiter wearing a white shirt, black bow tie, and black pants appears as if through thin air. Traditional Italian restaurants usually have male servers.

“Both the lady and I want San Pellegrino.” Neither you nor Alex are old enough for the wine and the beer.

“Certainly.” The waiter leaves promptly. You open your dinner menus.

“Wow,” you say. “Look at all of these items.”

“Whatever you do, don’t order the cheese ravioli.”

“Why? Is there something wrong with it here?”

“I don’t know. But every time we’ve gone out for Italian – that’s four, counting tonight – you always order the cheese ravioli.”

“But I like it.”

“I like Nutter Butters, but that’s not the only cookie I eat. Baby, you’re on laycation. You’re going to try a few new things – ” He chuckles. “ – so you may as well start here.”

“You’re right. I am kind of conservative in my eating.”

“Why don’t you try some of the long pastas?”

“Long pastas?”

“Spaghetti, linguini, fettucine, angel hair, and so on. I’m ordering spaghetti.” He leans into your ear. “I already got the meatballs.”

You snicker. No one can do sexual innuendo like Alex. (He once said, “Sexual humor is innuendo, and bathroom comedy is outuendo.”)

“Well.” You focus your attention back to the menu. Despite Alex’s urging to try new things, you do have sensitivities to garlic and tomato to contend with. The one long pasta dish which looks good to you is the fettucine alfredo.

The waiter returns and asks if you are ready. Alex orders his spaghetti with red sauce, and you order fettucine alfredo with the sauce on the side, so it doesn’t get too cheesy. When the waiter walks away, Alex takes your hands.

“Has somebody told you how sexy you are lately?” he says.

“You did – on the way here.”

“Good. You should be called sexy every hour on the hour, at the bare minimum.”

“You should be called sexy every minute.” Beneath the table, you rub your calf against his. The thick material of his jeans feels good against your bare leg. So does knowing what’s beneath those jeans.

_Come on time, hurry, hurry._

The waiter brings a basket of miniature bread loaves and a caddy containing bottles of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Alex thanks him and sniffs one of the loaves.

“Wow. These are fresh.”

You pick up a loaf, too. It does have that lovely melt-in-your-mouth aroma of fresh-baked bread. You carefully tear it in half. It is brown and crusty on the outside, soft and fluffy on the inside. As bread should be.

 _I’m going to learn to make this for Alex when we get home,_ you think.

The bread basket contains a small ramekin filled with soft whipped butter. You take your butter knife and spread some on a piece of torn bread. Even though it is nutritionally incorrect, you also sprinkle some salt on it. Alex pours olive oil and vinegar on his plate and dips his bread in it.

“Um. Um. Um.” Alex chews with vigor. “I wonder what you have against traditional Italian condiments.”

“Nothing.”

“But you always choose the butter.”

“Butter is good.”

“Olive oil and vinegar are better, and they don’t make me fart.” He picks up a new loaf and tears it in half. “C’mon, try it.”

He stirs the inside of the bread in the oil and vinegar, and hands it to you. You take a bite. The olive oil tastes a little like butter, and the vinegar is deliciously salty.  

“Hey. You’re right.”

“As usual.” He smirks. What would have been jerky in most other guys is endearing in Alex. And he _was_ usually right.

The waiter brings our pasta dishes. Alex licks his lips when he sees the pile of spaghetti with red sauce on his plate. Your fettucine comes with a small pitcher of alfredo sauce on the side. The waiter also leaves a small bowl of shredded parmesan with a tiny spoon in it.

Alex dives his fork into his spaghetti. He twirls it until a generous amount is wrapped around the fork.

“Here’s where the fun begins.”

He lifts the fork over his head until he can grab the lowest strand with his mouth. He then turns his fork so that he unspools the spaghetti into his mouth. It was an unorthodox way of eating that would have gotten you scolded at the dinner table.

But you’re not at the family table now. You’re with Alex, and it’s okay to have some fun.

You turn some fettucine on your fork – not adding the sauce yet – and do the same thing. Alex laughs.

“See? Long pasta is fun.”

He picks up more pasta with his fork and stuffs it into his mouth. He then sucks it in, making an obvious slurping sound.

You look around the patio. No one is paying attention to what Alex is doing. So you do the same, adding a little sauce and cheese to your pasta first. You two play with your food – but not in a gross way – like you’re the only ones on the patio.

Your childlike behavior is predicting the very adult behavior that will happen later that night. Your lips will suck lips, and other things too.

“Looking at your sexy lips slurping that pasta is stiffening my own noodle,” Alex whispers.

You show him the pink of your tongue, and his dark eyes open wide.

Long story short, the two of you eat almost all of your pasta. So when the waiter brings the dessert menu, Alex rolls his eyes slightly. The only other solid you can imagine putting into your mouth tonight is anything attached to Alex.

Still, you take a look out of politeness. So much good stuff. So much creamy stuff. So much stuff that can’t fit in you right now.

“Ummmm...”

“Sometimes, Italians have coffee for dessert,” says Alex. “I think we should. We still have a _long_ night ahead of us.” You look into each other’s eyes.

He chooses double espresso with sugar cubes, and you choose a cappuccino. You reach for the basket containing the little paper packets of yellow and pink and blue and brown, but Alex takes it out of your reach.

“Heyyyy...”

“This isn’t fucking Starbucks. _This_ is the way you sweeten your coffee in a place like this...”

He drops a few of his sugar cubes into your cappuccino. It doesn’t come out quite as sweet as you’re used to, but Alex knew what was authentic.

This is going to be an authentic night indeed.

* * *

After dinner, you go straight back to the bed-and-breakfast. The main (inter)course awaits. Once you close the door to your room, Alex kisses you and dances around the room with you.

“It’s just us, now,” he says. “Only one thing left to do tonight...” His lips touch your ear. “...the _wild_ thing.”

His hands slide down to your butt and pushes your hips into his.

“The fuckiest fuck that has ever fucking happened in the fucking history of the fucking earth.”

“Okay.” You giggle, a little nervously. “Let me get into something more...less.”

“You do that.”

He releases your hips, and you go into the bathroom and take off your dress. You hang it on the hanger on the hook on the door. You wash off your makeup, brush your teeth, and use a wet washcloth to wipe down your armpits and belly. You also take off your panties and wipe your intimate area. You do not want to take the smallest chance on _that_ part being less than fresh.

When you feel clean enough for your first time, you come out of the bathroom wearing just your underwear, which is pale pink (and matching for a change).

Alex has stripped down to his charcoal gray boxer briefs. He sits on the bed, fiddling with his iPhone.

“Wow.” His eyes shine when he sees you in your underwear. “Your bra and panties are lucky, lucky dudes. If I can call girls’ underwear ‘dudes.’”

“You can.”

“What are you doing on your phone?”

“Creating a playlist for tonight’s main event.” He squints. “It’s not easy when you have 40,000 songs in iTunes... _siiiike!_ I had that shiz planned the morning after we met and I jacked off.”

“Can I see it?”

He holds his phone away from you.

“Uh, uh. I wanna surprise you.” He puts it down on the nightstand. “But I will tell you this: no baby Alex, no Joey Bada$$, and _no fucking Nat_.” He shakes his head. “Ain’t no r.c.m.j.n.b.n.o.e. goin’ down tonight. Just a.l.e.x.x.x.x.x.x.x.”

“You spelled your name with seven x’s.”

“Yup, and you’re gonna feel each and every one.” He tickles your thigh. “Now for some final hygiene. Can’t be goin’ in unfresh, now.”

Alex places his phone on the bedside table and goes into the bathroom. You hear him peeing. When he comes back, he is holding something in his hand. He puts it on the table. It is a tube of K-Y jelly.

“You can never be too prepared,” he says.

Shortly before you came here, the two of you went to the clinic and had your STD tests. You also had an IUD installed. Alex had said that while he would use condoms if you wanted, he’d prefer not to. The results of your tests and the IUD mean he doesn’t have to.

He sits on the bed beside you. He closes his eyes, revealing the intense contrast between the long, inky tendrils of his eyelashes and the tender skin of his face, right now wearing its summer color of chai tea infused with milk. His hand reaches for yours and covers your knuckles.

Alex’s outer persona is bold and brash – and sometimes reckless to a scary degree. It is one of the something-in-the-way-he-moves that drew you to him in the first place, and then tugged you over the line into love.

But in the just-the-two-of-you moments, he can be shy, almost timid, like a hungry child holding a bowl silently begging to have it be filled with food. This is your time to reassure him, comfort him, let him know down to his marrow that you are here for him, that his gentle side has a safe space in you.

“Alex.” You rub your nose against his. “I want this. I need this. Not just to make you happy. But because I’ve been dreaming of this since I was a girl. My first time. My one precious first time.”

“Your one precious first time. Damn straight.” He puts his lips on yours, slowly, reverently. “May I have the honor of being your first lover?”

“You may, Alex.” Your heart fluffs up with joy. “But...can we turn off the lights first?”

“Sure.”

He gets out of bed and turns off the overhead light. Now the only light in the room comes from outside, through the thin white curtains and horizontal blinds.

You know you’ll be able to do it in the light someday. Just not now.

Alex sits down beside you again. You smell the spice on his skin, the remnant of his deodorant.

“You are everything I want right now, and everything I need.” He runs his fingers down your arm. “Can I come inside?”

“Yes, Alex. Yes, you can.”

You can see his smile in the darkness. He wraps his arms around you. He feels like a large stuffed animal meant to be cuddled and loved, only clad in smooth skin and areas of soft fluff here and there.

You open your mouth to his. You can still taste the slightly bitter espresso on his lips and tongue. You fall back onto the bed. His fingers slide up your back and find the hooks to your bra. He lifts them apart, freeing your breasts. You help him take your bra off, and then he slides your panties down your legs.

You pull the seashell quilt over your bodies. You reach for the waistband of Alex’s boxer briefs. You tug them down, shuddering at how close you are now to the manliest parts of his body.

_It’s Alex now._

You feel something poke your thigh. A stab of fear clenches your heart. But you remember the here and now –

_This is Alex. Don’t be afraid._

– and you release the tension from your body.

“Hold up.”

Alex reaches for the tube of K-Y and snaps it open. He squirts some into his palm, and plunges it into the darkness under the comforter. You hear a moist rubbing sound, and you close your eyes.

Alex moves closer, almost lying directly on you. You open your legs wider. He reaches down to get a grip on himself.

You feel a slight poke between your legs, then a firmer pressure. Then, he starts bearing down, opening you, entering you.

_It’s Alex it’s Alex it’s Alex_

You gasp and grip his arms until your fingernails dig into his skin.

“Are you okay?” He stops. His voice sounds a little panicked.

“Yes. Please, keep going. I want this. I really do.” You look at him with all the love you have for him.

He smiles and slides his fingers into your hair as he continues on into you. You calm down –

_This is love._

– and hold his shoulders.

He pushes all the way inside you, his hips digging into yours. He lets out a deep, resonant “mmmm.”

“Um...how is it?”

_How am I? Am I good for you?_

“Good,” he murmurs. “So motherfucking good. I have won the greatest prize. Sorry for using my brother’s words.” He lifts his head and arches his eyebrows. “Shit. I almost forgot.”

He reaches for his phone.

“Almost forgot the playlist. Can’t make love to my girl for the first time without the playlist.”

“What’s on it?”

“You’ll find out.”

The fragile guitar chords come, high and low, high and low. Then, Alex’s achingly tender voice, the sounds of young love.

“It’s Just Love.” Of course. You smile and cuddle him closer. Your heart beats fast, but it’s for all of the right reasons.

It is Alex who is panting into your ear. It is Alex who is holding on tight, the hair on his arms brushing your skin. It is Alex, only Alex, who is pushing himself deeper and deeper into you.

It is Alex, and it is okay.

He moves faster. Harder. You cling to his slender young body.

“Oh, shit,” he gasps. “Shit. _Fuuuuuuck_.” He falls onto you, panting. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s wrong, Alex?” you ask.

He lifts his head and shakes it.

“So. There’s Big Alex and Little Alex. Big Alex lives in here – ” He points to his head. “And Little Alex lives down there.” He points between his legs. “Big Alex says, ‘Tonight, I make love to my woman.’ Little Alex says, ‘Awwww, yeah. This girl is smokin’ hot. So hot I’m gonna come all up in her biz!’ Big Alex says, ‘Oh no, you ain’t. You’re not fucking with my trip.’ Little Alex says, ‘Oh yeah? Who’s controllin’ this joint now, motherfucker? Huh? Huh?’ Soooo....” He gives you a mournful look.

“Oh.”

He rolls off of you.

“And now I’m fucking sleepy.” He grips your hand. “I’m soooo sorry...”

“Don’t be. Sleep is good.” You smile. “Sleeping next to you is extra-good.”

“Tomorrow I’ll be better. I promise.”

“Just be Alex. That’s all I need.”

“Love you, girl.”

“Love you, too.”

You close your eyes, your hand resting on Alex’s arm. You are in a good place. And this is just the beginning.

* * *

You wake up, and blink your eyes.

You are startled not to be in your bedroom back in New York City, with walls painted navy blue and stacks of books in all of the spare spaces and a full-sized bed with a salmon-pink quilt on top. You are in a room with ivory walls, the bed is bigger and covered with a seashell pattern comforter, and you are lying next to Alex.

Nude.

The morning after you made love for the first time.

You look into his face. It’s partially smushed up into the pillow, but he is still sexy – his lips puckered out, his dark hair flopping onto his forehead, his lean yet muscled arm falling over his chest. Tiny snores pour out of his mouth.

You stare at him for a length of time that you don’t measure. Slowly, he opens his mouth and yawns as widely as a cat does. He scratches his hair, then his armpits, then his belly. He opens his eyes, blinks, then sees you.

“Heyyyy...” He gets into your face and kisses it profusely. “It’s nice to wake up and see someone cute in my bed who’s not my dog. Or my brother.”

“Oh, you.”

“How didja sleep?”

“Good. It helped knowing you were near.”

“Same here. You know sleep and I aren’t always besties, but...last night was good. In more ways than one.” He grunts. “But right now, the love tool has to become a piss hose.”

Alex sits up and gets out of bed, his long slender back to you. This gives you your first view of his bare behind. It looks like two eggs snuggled inside an Easter basket. He smiles back at you and goes into the bathroom.

When he comes out, you don’t avert your eyes from him. In the light, in the golden morning light, Alex stands before you, nude. You see his all, including the penis that was deep inside you last night. It rests against the hairy pouch of his scrotum, soft now but still enticing.

“Alex,” you say.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

“Thanks, baby.”

Not too long ago, you never thought you’d look upon a penis and call it beautiful, ever. But this is Alex. He loves you, and he wants to make you feel good with everything he has, everything he is.

He strolls towards the bed like a man who knows he has it all. You lift up the quilt and reveal yourself to him.

Alex pauses and sucks in his breath.

“You...are a work of art,” he declares. “I see softness and steadiness, gentleness and determination. I see the house that I want to live in.”

“Hmmmm. I hear a new song coming on.”

“Maybe.” He takes a finger and makes a figure-eight path around your nipples. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it through ‘It’s Just Love.’”

“It’s okay. Really.”

“When I finally got inside of you, after all the anticipation...looking at your beauty, all of it, your face and your skin and your smile and your precious tits...well, you know the argument between Big Alex and Little Alex, and who won that round.’” He sighed. “I just wanted you so fucking much!”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I liked it.”

“I just wish there was more of it to like.”

“There will be, later on.”

“How about right now?”

He puts his lips on yours. You feel your insides melt, surrendering to his love. His lips travel down to your neck, to the space between your breasts, to your belly, your navel, and then down between your legs.

“Awwww, yeah,” he purrs. “The sweetest spot.”

His tongue reaches out to lick the tight valley. You shudder. You know this is the easiest way for girls to come, but no one had ever offered this before.

His fingers part the opening.

“Oh, yeah. You gotta open the shell to get to the oyster.”

His tongue reaches down, and – oh, boy. Ohhhh, _boy_.

No one ever has touched that part of you with that part of him. It was right. Just right.

He licks the bud the way a mother cat would lick her newborn kitten – tenderly, carefully, mindful of the fragility. He slides an index finger into you, slowly pumping.

“Oh, yes,” you sigh. “Oh, Alex.”

You don’t believe in God, but you sure as hell believe in Alex. You arch your back, giving yourself to him fully, feeling like you are literally blooming in his face. He slides another finger inside of you, and those fingers plunge into you, in and out, in and out.

He turns his body around. Now his penis, fully erect now, dangles toward your mouth like a ripe fruit. Your lips kiss the tip of his penis. Once. Twice. The third time, you take the whole head into your mouth.

“Oh, yeah,” Alex growls. “Listen to your desire, babygirl. Let it take you where you want to go.”

_Listen to your desire._

_Let it take you where you want to go._

You sink into the mattress. You fingers touch the shaft of his cock, but your mouth holds on to the head as if it were one of those Charms lollipops with the bubblegum inside.

But Alex doesn’t taste like a Charms lollipop. He tastes like flesh, hot sweaty flesh, with thick oyster-flavored liquid oozing onto your tongue.

“Oh, yeah.” Alex’s voice drops several octaves, like that of a seductive voiceover of a commercial. You need to do your best to give him the pleasure that he is bestowing on you. His tongue and his fingers turn the center of your body into the sweetest space ever.

You still keep your hand on his penis, but you open your mouth to let him know how you feel.

“Alex!” you cry. “Ahhhh-lex!”

You arch your back and surrender yourself to his mouth and the body-rocking, mind-blowing orgasm it gives you. You never imagined, in your wildest dreams, that you were capable of this wild and crazy pleasure.

“Oh, yeah,” he growls. “Come in my face. Come right in my fucking face.”

When your orgasm ebbs, you mouth grabs hold of Alex’s penis.

“Yeahhhh,” he growls. “Oh, yeah, girl, suck that big ol’ steamy juicy New York hot dog. Suck the come right out of it. Suck – ”

_Bpppppppppptttttttttt_

“Oh, holy Jesus fuck,” Alex groaned. “I’m sorry. I’m soooo sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you reply, even though the air above your head now smells like a very crowded barnyard. You just keep licking and sucking his penis, because that is what you do when you love a man.

“Wow.” Alex says. “Wow. I drop a major stink bomb, and you’re not only still in the same room with me, but your mouth stays on my dick?”

“Everybody farts. But some do it cuter than others.”

“Well, then.”

You take him into your mouth again. Your palm feels the vibration under his skin as his semen speeds down his penis. You close your mouth upon him and take in as much as you can, so you don’t spill a single drop. Even in heat, you want to be neat.

“Uhhhh. Uhhhh. _Uhhhhhhhh_.” His thighs slide down, and his torso falls onto yours. You exhale, and wrap your arms around his body. You smile up at his sweet and stinky butt, and squeeze his cheeks like bathroom tissue.

“That...was awesome,” you gasp. “Thank you.”

“Ditto.” He lifts his body off of you. “Excuse me. Gotta go to the bathroom again.”

He walks back into the bathroom and closes the door. After a few moments of silence, he pokes his head out of the door.

“Don’t go in there,” he warns. “I found out why my fart was so stank – I had a buttload of deuce in my ass.”

“Okay, Alex. I kind of figured that out.”

“Twelve inches long, two-and-a-half inches across – ooooh, wee.”

“O- _kay_ , Alex.” Ooooh, wee, indeed. Discussing length and girth.

“Pushing it out was a sexual experience. I’d be hard right now, except for the awesome refractory-period-inducing beej you gave me.”

Praise comprehensive sexual education _and_ flush toilets.

You sit up. As you scoot your butt towards the edge of the bed, it releases a fart. A fart that sounds and feels like a toddler’s mouth raspberry, and smells like a little barnyard of its own.

“Niiiice.” Alex raises his thumb. You let out a sigh of relief. How delightfully safe it feels for him to be as okay with your bottom belches as you are with his. “I’m gonna shower. The hot water will melt the stink away. I hope. BRB.”

He closes the door, and soon you hear the shower running. You stand up, wrapping your arms around yourself. It is a habit you’ve had since early puberty, hiding and protecting your vulnerable body.

 _But why hide?_ you think. Alex has made love to you – twice – and not made a single complaint. If he didn’t truly want you, he wouldn’t have brought you to this precious little island. He wouldn’t have chosen this lovely room, wouldn’t have taken you out to dinner. He wouldn’t be here with you, period.

_Just believe in his love._

Alex eventually comes out of the bathroom with an entourage of steam, drying himself off with a giant white towel.

“Attention, towel makers: Stop. This is the end of the evolution.” He drapes the towel over his head. You touch it, and understand what he is talking about. It is the best that a towel can be – thick and fluffy, super absorbent, a place you can live in.

“I saved one for you, baby.”

You feel sweaty from what you did this morning. A shower does sound nice right now.

“Thanks, Alex.” You kiss him on the lips. “I won’t be too long.”

You go into the bathroom, pee, and then take a shower. When you are done, you wrap yourself in the other bath towel. Oh, yes. This _is_ the end of towel evolution. It’s heaven made of terrycloth.

When you come out of the bathroom, Alex stands in the middle of the room wearing white boxer briefs.

“You wanna make like goats and go up the mountain?” He shows you a brochure about trail hiking.

“Sure.” A vigorous walk will be good for both of you.

He opens his duffel bag. “Shit. The only other shoes I brought besides my date shoes are black Chucks.”

“Let me see the brochure.”

He gives it to you, and you give it a speed-read.

“This isn’t Mount Everest. I think Chucks will be okay for this.” So will your pink Adidas all-around shoes.

Alex puts on a white T-shirt with Nirvana’s naked angel icon on it and brown cargo shorts. After putting on your underwear, you wear a green-and-white striped short-sleeved T-shirt and blue denim shorts. You also have a little black burlap drawstring bag just big enough to hold your wallet and phone.

The two of you leave your room and go downstairs to the dining room, where the guests pick up their complimentary Continental breakfasts. You choose a plain sliced bagel and put it in a toaster. Alex chooses a frosted cinnamon roll. When your bagel is done, you spread cream cheese on it. To drink, you choose English breakfast tea and he chooses coffee.

You sit at the table with some other guests, all of whom are significantly older than you two. But you only have eyes for each other. When Alex gets frosting above his upper lip, you lick it off. That encourages him to get frosting all over his mouth, which you happily keep licking. The scene ends with him looking down at the zipper of his shorts and raising his eyebrows wickedly. You shake your head, and he sheepishly eats the last of his roll.

You step outside after breakfast and make your way to the trail head. Alex looks at the brochure as he walks.

“The trail’s a little over four miles,” he says. “This brochure says it will take an hour to hike.” He looks at the homes and buildings on the way to the trail head. “Looks like it will take four miles just to get there.”

It didn’t. You pick up your free hiking permits at the Conservancy House, and then get on the trail. The landscape is typical of California, with plump dark green bushes growing from grassy hills. As you go up the trail, you see families, people with dogs, and other couples, but none that make you feel crowded. The trail is narrow, less than a foot wide, so you walk in front of Alex, at his urging. The brisk breeze feels like it goes through your body, sweeping the funk away and bringing in fresh energy.

You can’t help but stop in a spot which gives you a magnificent view of the Pacific to the west. It looks like a giant deep blue field, going on to infinity. Looking at the ocean from this perspective makes you see how small you really are. Yet, it doesn’t scare you at all. It fills you with awe that you are able to see this. You are a part of this beautiful world.

“What a view,” you say.

“I know.”

You turn around. While you are looking at the ocean, Alex is looking at your butt.

“Oh, you.” You giggle. “The ocean is nice, too.”

“Yeah, it’s fucking awesome. The blue ocean makes my spirit rise. Your blue butt makes my cock rise. Both are necessary.”

He gets behind you, and you feel what rose against your blue butt. He wraps his arms around you, and you just stand still in gratitude. For multiple things.

On the way back down the hill, you meet a couple going the other way. The man is tall, with muscles stretching his blue tank top. He strides with ruthless purpose, his female companion struggling to keep up. A thin chinstrap beard frames the bottom of his face.

The sight of the chinstrap beard freezes your spine, then turns your stomach upside down. You stop in your tracks. You put your hands on the sides of your face.

“What’s wrong?” asks Alex.

“That guy...he looked like...”

“Don’t say it.”

Alex wraps his arms around you and holds you close. You place your cheek on his chest and take a deep breath.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

About a month ago, when you were hanging out at his place, he put his hand on your neck and squeezed a little too hard as he was kissing you. You gasped in panic. Alex let go and asked you what was wrong. You opened your mouth, but all that came out was gasping, which segued into sobbing. It took some time, and lots of cuddling from Alex, before you could tell him the story of the last guy who put his hand on your neck and squeezed. Among other things.

Alex brought his fist down on the coffee table so hard that he broke a small plate that you had been eating crackers off of. He stared yelling and cursing like a madman, and it scared you so much that you couldn’t understand what he was saying.

When he saw the terror in your eyes, Alex reassured you. “It’s not you! I’m not mad at you. I’m mad at the motherfucker who did this to you. He’s the _only_ one to blame. If I ever see the slimy prick, he’s a dead man.”

“Alex...”

“No. Someone has to be furious with the power of a million suns over this. I know you don’t want to think of it anymore, so I will be angry for you.”

“Oh...thank you, Alex.”

“What he did had nothing to do with love. As far as I’m concerned, he never touched you at all. _I’m_ gonna be your first lover. When you’re ready.”

Someone to be angry for you. Someone to remind you that _he_ never really touched you. That was, and is, the best of Alex.

“Feeling better?”

Alex’s voice gently cascades over your head, tugging you back into the present.

“Yes.” You look up at him. “Thanks. I’m sorry for freaking out.”

“Don’t be. I know it happens from time to time.” He kisses your hair. “I’m here for you. Always.”

You walk down the trail, slowly, until you reach the main road.

“What now?” he asks.

“I’m feeling a little hungry.”

“I’m feeling a lot hungry.” He raises his eyebrows. “Wait. Are we talking about food?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. For now.” He pats your behind. “But I need to get something out of the room first.”

That “something” is Alex’s travel guitar, which he slings over his back. You then meander around the beachfront, looking for a place to eat, until Alex spots a sign on the pier.

“Buffalo burgers?” He cringes. “They fucking eat buffalo here?”

“Yes. Catalina has its own buffalo herd. Many years ago, a film crew brought buffalo here for a movie, but they couldn’t afford to take them back home. So they stayed...and multiplied. Buffalo here aren’t endangered at all.”

“Well, in that case, sign me up. I’m always up for a burger adventure.”

You and Alex walk down to the restaurant. He gets the buffalo burger with fries. You, loving seafood,  get fried fish, shrimp, and clams with fries. You gather plenty of condiments and napkins before you sit down on a bench facing the ocean. The wind, scented with bracing sea salt, tosses your hair around as you eat. It is a uniquely beachy experience.

Alex bites vigorously into his buffalo burger. “Huh. Doesn’t taste that much different from a regular burger.” He bites again. “Still fucking good, though.”

“So’s mine.” You bite into a savory clam, dipped in ketchup.

You collect all your fries in the cardboard box that Alex’s burger came in and share them. Outrageously. Holding them between your teeth and feeding them to the other. Tossing them toward each other’s mouth. Sticking them in your ears. Using them as mock middle fingers. Alex even sticks an extra-long fry on his crotch for you to nibble on.

When you are done eating, you wipe your hands thoroughly and continue your Catalina exploration. You visit every single art gallery in town, including one with nothing but art of fish (Alex buys a seashell keychain). You peek inside the tiny post office and library, and even go into the one grocery store (where you buy bottled water). You even find a miniature golf course which looks like it is set inside a small enchanted forest. Neither of you are good at golf of any kind – probably because New York City doesn’t offer opportunities to practice – but you have a hell of a time swinging at the ball. You take time to walk down the residential streets, marveling at the little pastel houses and wishing out loud that New York City would use golf carts instead of regular cars just like Avalon did.

When you are done exploring, you and Alex return to the area close to the ocean. You sit down at a bench. Alex takes his travel guitar out of its case, and then places the open case at his feet.

“I’m goin’ to the days of wayback, when I had to sing for my Pokémon cards.”

He leans back and plays a few stray notes on his guitar...which evolve into the start of “Thump Thump Thump.”

Some people turn their heads. A few linger around. A brave person walks up to you and drops a single dollar into the case.

“Thanks, man.”

He plays just about every song he has recorded, and even a few covers – but, oddly, not the three songs you told him you touched yourself to.

A young man and woman approach us. The young man points down at Alex.

“Look,” he says to the woman, “it’s the dude from the Naked Boys Band that was on the Disney Channel. Remember him?”

“No,” she replies.

“We should ask him to sing that crazy banana song.” The man hiccups.  “I’ll pay ya a dollar to sing the crazy banana song.” He reaches into his wallet and drops a crumpled dollar into the case.

Alex smiles up at him generously and strums a sharp cascade of notes on his guitar.

“Here comes the crazy banana / Here comes the crazy banana / Here comes the crazy banana / And it’s going up your _ass_.” He sings the last word with relish.

The young man looks disgusted.

“Fuck you, man.”

He and his companion walk away. Alex laughs.

“At least he paid the commission for the composition.” He stares at the crumpled dollar. “Naked Boys Band. That’s savage.”

For his impromptu alfresco concert, Alex earned a grand total of eleven dollars and fifty-one cents.

“Better than minimum wage,” he realizes. “What should we do with this?”

“Well...I’m kind of thirsty.”

“Me, too.” He licks his lips.

He puts his guitar back in its case and helps you stand back up. You walk to a kiosk and buy aluminum bottles of soda, Coke for him and Coke Zero for you. You meander down the street and see a row of street vendors. One of them sells handmade beaded bracelets. Alex stops and studies them intently.

“What do you think of this?” He picks up a bracelet made with alternating pale blue and gray crystals. The colors remind you of the colors of the ocean.

“I like it.”

“It’s yours, then.”

He buys it for you, six dollars total, and slips it onto your wrist. It’s just as valuable to you as if he spent sixty thousand.

“Thank you, Alex.” You kiss him warmly. “It’s beautiful.”

Then, you realize that this is the first piece of jewelry that he’s bought for you. You’ll never let it go, ever. You know that there’s a difference between jewelry you bought for yourself, like your initial necklace, and jewelry chosen with the eyes of love.

You lift your arm into the sky. The crystals gleam and sparkle, like the souls of fairies.

It’s been a long, active afternoon. The two of you feel sweaty, greasy, and blown away (but satisfied inside). You agree to go back to the bed-and-breakfast to clean up. “Cleaning up” means a warm shower. Together, not one at a time. You have a bit of a disagreement over which soap to use (your rose soap versus his Old Spice shower gel – you compromise by using the hotel’s soap, which smells like soap, nothing more) – but once you get under the water, you have a hell of a good time. You both discover that having someone else scrub your back is an underrated sensual experience, and that pubic hair looks alluring when it’s soapy (and feels nice and soft after it’s rinsed). You reiterate that neither of you will ever again tolerate anything other than thick, soft, huge towels like the ones the bed-and-breakfast provides. You find out that Alex is good at getting you dry (“I’ve had some practice with my dog. And my brother.” You stare at him. “Just kidding about my brother. Kinda sorta.”)

You put on your other dress, which is black in a wraparound style, and Alex puts on blue jeans and a loose light blue button-down shirt. You put on your black patent flats, your initial necklace, and the bracelet that Alex bought for you.

This evening, you go down the street and turn left for the Japanese restaurant. No reservations, just two seats at the sushi bar.

Alex had schooled you on Italian food. Now you get to teach him about sushi. Strangely enough, he has never tried it before. “I usually eat fish in stick form,” he says.

In front of every two seats at the sushi bar, there is a plastic holder containing a two-sided picture of many of the kinds of sushi commonly served in America. You pick one up and show it to Alex.

“I think it’s best for you to start with shrimp, tuna, and salmon nigiri,” you say. "The shrimp is cooked, and tuna and salmon are mild.”

Alex orders shrimp, tuna, and salmon nigiri for each of you (you ask for no wasabi, as it is too hot for you). Each order is two pieces, and comes on a wooden tray with slats on the bottom. You teach him how to hold the nigiri (with chopsticks or fingers), how to dip it into the soy sauce plate (fish side down, which you learned embarrassingly late in life), and to eat the nigiri in one or two bites at most.

Alex loves every bite of sushi. His hums and yums prove it. When he finishes his first six pieces, he picks up the plastic sign.

“I want all of these.”

You raise your eyebrows. All? But when Alex likes something, whether it’s a cookie or a band or a style of shoes, he goes balls out. So he orders the yellowtail and the octopus and the squid and the eel and the mackerel and the halibut and the albacore and the scallop and the sea urchin and the sweet shrimp and the fatty tuna and the smelt eggs and the flying fish eggs with raw quail eggs on top and the sweet bean curd and the cooked egg. You sit in awe as Alex chows down on all of these (well, you help him eat some of the milder sushi). He is having a sushi adventure where he sits.

When he is done, he rubs his belly. Alex is rarely gluttonous, but when he is the calories get sucked into his high metabolism. He once said that all the fat in the food he ate went straight to his hair. When you look at his luscious hair, it’s easy to believe.

“Ugh. I wanna get out and walk when we get out of here. How about you?”

“I can do that. I remember there’s a walkway that goes past the Casino Ballroom.”

“All right. Let’s do that.” He smiles and takes your hand. “Thanks for teaching me sushi.”

“You’re welcome. You haven’t tasted anything yet. When we get back home, we should try Masa. As soon as we save up a thousand dollars.” You laugh. “Sike. I can find cheaper.”

“Babe, let me find the best.”

* * *

When you get out of the Japanese restaurant, the sun has already gone down over the horizon. Its leftover light still lingers in the sky, keeping it lavender. Alex grips your hand as you walk east on the walkway, just like all the other loving couples.

“Hey. Remember the crazy banana – I mean, the banana smoothie song?”

“It’s hard to forget.” You smile.

“I’m gonna write a counterpart called ‘Tuna Sushi.’ But it’s not _really_ gonna be about tuna sushi...” He reaches around you and strokes your breast. “It tastes like you. All the sushi tastes like you. That’s why I wanted it all.”

“You’re going to get it all tonight, my man.”

“Damn.” He tugs the crotch of his jeans down.

You pass the Casino Ballroom, now with its golden night lighting, and head down towards an open park. Even now, people are hanging out, having picnics, playing games. Someone throws a Frisbee in Alex’s direction, and he catches it like a pro. He tosses it back to the original owner seamlessly.

“Alex. Let’s buy a Frisbee this summer.”

“Yup. As long as it’s green.”

“Why green?”

“Because I am the second coming of the Lizard King.”

“Ah.”

“Yup.”

“Would you consider moving here?”

He shakes his head.

“Babygirl, the City is in my blood and in my soul. The energy, the danger, the mad mind of those millions of people...it’s what makes me _me_.”

“And what makes you the man that I love.”

“But. We can always visit.” He laughs. “Or we can build one of those mousie housies on the roof of our apartment building. Give you a cute little safe space.”

“You’re my cute safe space, Alex. But you’re not _little_.”

He guffaws. He hears the innuendo in your voice loud and clear. You’re getting the hang of this.

* * *

On the walk back to the bed-and-breakfast, you are full of giddiness and joy and wildness for Alex. You stop to wrap your arms around him and kiss him every few feet. As you do, you unbutton his shirt and reach in to tickle his chest and belly. You touch him in places you really shouldn’t in public, like his butt and his thighs, and your fingers come dangerously close to the fly of his jeans. Alex, naturally, is loving it.

“Girl,” he giggles, “you have naughty hands. Naughty, naughty little hands.”

“I know.”

“If you don’t stop feeling me up, I’ma gonna fuck you right here on the sidewalk. And then when the po-po sees me hiding my amazing sausage in your even more amazing hidey-hole, they’re gonna put us both in jail, where fucking is never allowed.” He holds your hand tightly. “So we gotta be cool until we get to our nice, comfy bed, mmmm-kay?”

“Mmmm-kay.” You rise up to your tippy-toes, but you stop touching him (for now).

“Hey, here we are.”

You have arrived at the bed-and-breakfast. You open the door. On the first floor, you see that some of the hors d’oeuvres and wine bottles that were put out in the afternoon are left on the dining table and sideboard. Alex strolls over to the sideboard and grasps a red wine bottle. Before you can say a word, he picks up two clean wine glasses and puts them on the table.

“Alex...” You look around. You two are the only people on this floor right now, except for the owner behind the front desk who is reading a book and is barely noticing us. You know he used his credit card to pay for the room, but you don’t know if the owner knows how young you two are.

“C’mon.” Alex tilts his head toward you.

You stand next to him. He unscrews the cap (all of the wines have a screw cap) and pours generously into each of the glasses.

“I just couldn’t resist.” He gives you a glass and clinks his glass to yours. “Cheers.”

You drink the shiny, maroon-colored liquid. It tastes bitter on your tongue when it first touches it, but gets sweeter as it goes down. It rushes to your belly, and blossoms into a bloom of warmth in your center. Your knees weaken briefly.

“Easy now. Not too fast.”

Alex wraps one arm around you to support you. With the other, he drinks his wine, and it makes him look rakishly grown-up. He gazes at the grand piano.

“It’s finally time to answer that piano’s call.”

He walks over to the piano and sits down on the bench. You sit next to him. Your place your wineglasses on the bench next to your bodies.

Alex taps the keys.

“In tune, good to know.”

He places his hands on his lap. He takes another sip of wine, and so do you.

“What’s on your mind?”

“This.”

He puts his hands on the keys again. His fingers tap, making sounds that you don’t recognize until you link them to the guitar chords of a beloved song...

“Ohhhh...”

Alex sings “It’s Just Love” to you, a one-boy-to-one-girl concert. You lean into him, as intoxicated from his words as you are with the wine.

You close your eyes and see an adorable little puppy bounding down the sidewalk on soft little puppy feet. A puppy with Alex’s face. A smaller puppy comes up next to him – you, in puppy form – and the Alex-puppy nuzzles the you-puppy.

Alex nuzzles you in real life, and you smile. You see the Alex-puppy licking the you-puppy.

_Alex, please lick me._

You lick his chin, and that gets him started. He licks your forehead between verses, then your entire face, as if it were made of sugar. You sigh and squeak.

_It’s never ever “just” love._

When Alex is done, he gives you a long, luscious kiss, as delicious as the sushi you had earlier. He strokes your hair, and puts his lips to your ear.

“I love you so much. Let’s go upstairs.”

The two of you stand up. You scoop up your empty wineglasses, and Alex grabs the half-full bottle of wine that he opened. Before you reach the stairwell, you catch the eye of the owner, who winks at you. She knows what is up...in more ways than one.

* * *

When you return to your room, the lights of the street seep through the thin white curtains and the slightly open blinds. They give the room an eerie, unearthly glow that touches every surface they can reach. You don’t need to turn on the lights.

You step out of your flats and peel off your dress. Alex yanks off his dress shoes and unbuttons his shirt. Your clothes come off, piece by piece, and float down to the floor. Tonight, neatness is not the highest priority.

Alex takes your hand and brings it to his lips.

“To the girl who makes me a better man with just one encouraging smile. To the girl who scares me sometimes, worries me sometimes – and I’m so grateful, because real love scares and worries you sometimes. To the girl who not only kept on sucking my dick after I cut the rankest fart of all time, but swallowed – you are the girl I will be honored to make love so sweet to, it’ll rot our teeth. It’s you. It will always be you.”

He holds on to your hand, and keeps on smiling as he gently leads you towards the bed.

The bed.

The seashell bed where you had a quick and eager coupling, and then a savory oral feast. The bed where Alex had promised you, in his own words, “the fuckiest fuck that has ever fucking happened in the fucking history of the fucking earth.”

Why couldn’t that promise apply twice?

“Alex, please know this: our first time was perfect. It gave us both what we needed at the moment.”

“True. But tonight is gonna be what we need right now. What we need right now is Alex in control. The right Alex,” he amends. “Little Alex isn’t a bad boy. He’s just overexuberant sometimes, and needs to be kept in check before he takes over the whole joint. So.” He mimes putting a cowboy hat on his head. “I’ma putting a saddle and spurs on him so he don’t go moseying off the ranch, ya hear?”

Ya heard.

* * *

The first time, you kept your eyes on his face. Now, you are ready to see everything else.

You watch him as he suckles one of your breasts, then the other, like a puppy licking two yummy bones and being unable to pick just one. You watch him as he slides his mouth down your belly. His tongue playfully dipping into your navel before it comes down to the nest between your legs.

He licks the oyster carefully, stoking the fire that was already there. You squirm delightfully as his tongue loves the blood in both your clitoris and labia, making them both swell.

Before you fall into orgasm, you slide your hands into his thick, dark curls and gently lift his head.

“I’m okay, Alex,” you say.

“You sure?”

“I’ve never been surer.” You lift your knees and open your legs as wide as they can possibly go, showing him everything you have to give. “Come on, Alex. Put it inside.”

He grins, showing off his perfect white teeth.

“I’m gonna stuff you with my sweet sausage like a Cornish hen, I’ll tell you what.”

He lifts himself so you can see his entire torso now, including the beautiful erection you were too shy to look at the first time it entered you.

Shyness had begone.

Alex reaches for the lube and smears it on himself, just in case. He wipes the remainder on his upper thighs and leans into your ear.

“Ready?” he asks, making sure one more time.

“Ready.”

“Okay. Here it comes.”

Alex puts his hands on your thighs, puts the tip of his penis against your opening, and slides into you. All the way. All the way like in a rock and roll song from the 1970s.

You grip his wrists and moan. Nothing looks as erotic as seeing his penis go into you until the forests of your pubes meet. Nothing feels as erotic, too.

“Alex...” you whisper, your voice cracking.

He leans down and kisses your forehead.

“It’s okay now. Let me take control.”

He holds you close, and starts thrusting slowly. Slowly thrusting.

In. Out.

This is sex at its core.

In. Out.

Over and over again.

In. Out.

But. Not just.

In. Out.

Never just.

In. Out.

 _In_ is the ecstasy of friction. The ecstasy of erogenous zone meeting erogenous zone. The ecstasy of knowing you were wanted, in the most sincere way possible. _Out_ is the move that made _in_ possible. 

In and out. Love and lust. Girl and boy. You and Alex. All of these as inseparable as yin and yang.

Like a marathoner catching sight of the finish line, Alex feels a surge of fresh energy. He starts pounding into you, and your hips rise to meet him. You are hungry for that meat. You have a hungry little mouth down there, and it is insatiable for everything that Alex is serving.

This is the thing about in and out – no matter how slowly a man thrusts, he will still get to where he was going. When a pubic bone, abundant with pubic hair, came down hard upon the most sexual part of a female body enough times, that sexual part would respond. Oh, did it respond.

Your hips rise to meet his. And rise. And rise. Each time better than the rest. And Alex’s deeply thrusting penis is there to catch each internal contraction.

“Oh. Shit. Oh. Yeah. I can tell I done you good.”

You sink back into the bed. You’ve never felt so good in your life. You have no words for what he just did...but you do have a satisfied sigh.

Alex keeps on pushing, keeps on pushing, like the hustler he is.

“You like?”

He grinds his hips into yours, like mortar to pestle.

“You _like_?”

“I love.”

“I’ma goin’ balls deep, and I don’t think I’ll stop.”

He grinds you, and grinds you, with the erotic precision of a stripper, until you come again. Hard. You mirror his grind, and you almost scream.

“Oh. Oh. Oh.” Alex leans down and growls into your ear.

Like a kitten.

No. Like a big, good wolf.

An animal, both gentle and wild.

Gentle enough to keep you safe. Wild enough to set you free.

“Can I?” he asks. You don’t need to ask what he means.

_Can I make you come again?_

_Can I be your love god?_

_Can I?_

“You do, and I do I do,” he whispers.

You don’t know exactly what he means by that, but you do know how to answer.

“Alex, do your thang.”

You feel his smile against your neck.

“My thang gonna do you, babygirl.”

He grips your wrists, bringing you under his control, and fucks you good and hard. You gasp, and then squeal, as he thrills you inside and out. You can feel yourself tightening around him, and you know that’s thrilling him, too.

He lets out deep, primal grunts, the sounds of a man releasing his seed, fulfilling his biological purpose. He’s done what he told you he would do. He controlled himself. Now, he’s reaping the rewards – the longer the wait, the better the come.

_It’s okay. I’m here. It’s okay. I’m here._

The two shortest and most comforting sentences in the English language. Alex, using his words.

You hadn’t experienced a trauma – in fact, the exact opposite – but the words comfort you just the same. It is okay, can never be anything but okay, when he is here.

His penis makes beautiful music inside of your body with the same skill and care that his fingers make beautiful music on his instruments.

When it is all done, he falls upon you, panting, sweating. Even in the darkness, you can see that his skin glows. So does yours.

“Whoa. Both Big Alex and Little Alex got theirs tonight.”

He rolls off of you and puts his hand on your bush.

“Big time. Can we turn on the light?”

“Sure.”

Alex turns on the lamp beside the bed. You look down at yourself, but can’t see much.

“Wait. You can’t see it from that direction. Hold on.”

He gets out of bed and reaches into your purse. He pulls out a compact mirror and opens it. He comes back to bed and places the mirror between your legs. Now, you see it.

“I pumped you so full of come, amirite?”

“You sure did. It’s very impressive.”

“That’s gonna make a hell of a wet spot.” He stops smiling, realizing the implications. “Better go get a towel.”

He goes to the bathroom and returns with two hand towels. With one, he wipes you down gently. The sensation of soft terrycloth against tender skin makes you feel so cared for.

Alex tosses that towel aside, folds the second towel in half, and drapes it over the wet spot.

“You know,” you say, “there’s still plenty of you left in me.”

“Uh, huh. Your IUD better be workin’ overtime.”

Babies were not going to be part of your near future, if you can help it. You imagine millions of little sperm, each of them with Alex’s face, being stymied by the IUD and cussing up a storm.

“Was that better than last night? Be honest.”

“It was...different.” You are being honest. You don’t want to compare one lovemaking session to another.

“You came. I made you come.”

“You sure did, Alex.”

“More than once.”

“True.”

“And it was longer. The longer I stay in you, the better it feels for both of us, right?”

“Yup.”

“So it _was_ better than the first time.” He points both of his index fingers in a “gotcha” gesture.

“Alex. We’re going to be doing this quite often. I hope.”

“We’d better.” He laughs.

“Sometimes, it will be long, like on nights when we don’t have to get up early in the morning. Sometimes, it will be quick. Like when you take me against the wall of the dressing room right before a concert.”

“I’m gonna do that. I’m so gonna do that.”

“But each and every time, it will be _us._ You and me, Alex. We’re chocolate and peanut butter. Cookies and milk. Salt and pepper.”

“Pussy and cock.”

“That, too.” You laugh. “We go together. Always and forever. No matter how long or short, it’s always good between us.” You wrap your arms around him. “Because when we make love, we make _love_.”

That is the center of it all. Everything good that you and Alex have – your laughter, your sex, your sense of security – has its roots in your love. Love spurs each of you to serve the other, so that you both get what you need.

Alex pours what is left of the red wine into the wineglasses. It helps you sleep the sleep of angels. Little puppy-shaped angels. Little puppy-shaped angels in love.

Yip, yip. Yip yip yip yip.

* * *

You wake up to the sight of naked Alex on the edge of the bed, strumming his travel guitar. You just lie there, watching him play. It is a sight you are blessed to see. You let him play and play, until he turns his head and sees that you’re awake.

“Remember that song by the Beatles called ‘I Want You’?”

“Um...sort of. It was on _Abbey Road_ , right?” You had listened to every Beatles song ever recorded, even the outtakes, in Alex’s bedroom.

“Yup. It’s basically just John singing about how much he wants Yoko. Just basic, nitty-gritty shit – I. Want. You. The kind of thing that runs through a man’s mind when he’s balls deep in his woman.” He grins. “I had similar thoughts last night.”

“Oh, really?”

“I already got the framework of the song.”  

Even on the small acoustic, Alex brought out the rhythmic, physical cadence of the song – it was nothing less than sex distilled into notes:

 

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Stay in control, I want her so

Stay in control, I want her so

Stay in control, I want her so

 

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Stay in control, I need her so

Stay in control, I need her so

Stay in control, I need her so

 

Get it good, get it deep

This young wood will not sleep

Get it good, get it deep

This young wood will not sleep

 

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Slowly thrusting

Stay in control, I love her so

Stay in control, I love her so

Stay in control, I love her so

 

I love her so

I love her so

I

Love

Her

SOOOOOOOOOOOO!

 

He stretched the last word like taffy into a sweet orgasmic howl.

“Uh, I dunno if this is ever gonna go public.” He shook his head. “It may freak out the little girls who grew up with the NBB. They don’t want to think of little baby do-rag Alex thrusting with his wood. Deep.”

“You never know what the fans are ready for.”

You met Alex when he was fully grown. You didn’t watch the show when it originally aired; when you saw pictures and videos of him as a kid, you thought, _that cute little boy who grew up to be my love._ Puberty _is_ magic.

“You’re right. I forget, they’ve grown up, too. They know all the innuendo and outuendo, though I don’t think I’m gonna write songs about shitting any time soon. Even though I got stories that would fit right in on ‘American Horror Story’ – ”

You sit up and put your hand over his mouth, gently.

“Let’s stick to love for now, Alex.”

Your lips meet both again and for the first time, each kiss its own universe.

(Your title is wrong. This is the fourth time. Not as short as the first, nor as long as the third. But just as satisfying. Yes. Because Alex.)

A few hours later, you two are on the boat back to the mainland. The engines hum as the boat rises and falls over the water. The sunlight reflects off your bracelet, creating gleams of white and blue that land on the ceiling of the boat cabin. Alex is inhaling pretzels. You lean on his shoulder, grateful and giving, loving and loved.

When the boat returns to Long Beach, you will take a cab to the airport in Los Angeles, where you’ll board the plane home. You know, and so does he, that Catalina will remain with you for the rest of your lives. Even if you go back there, this first time – and the first four times it contained – will remain a touchstone of magic, joy, and carnal memory. It was where a boy learned to become a man who’d put saddle and spurs on his lust for his love, and where a woman was carried back to a gentle girlhood that found joy in six-dollar bracelets and bathroom jokes.

You hear your phone hum in your purse. You take it out. You read this message, some of it in emoji:

_Once upon a time, a weirdo (boy) and a gentle (girl) somehow found each other in this crazy (world). They started as (handshake) but soon fell in (red heart). They (red heart) each other for a long time (couple kissing). But soon the time came when a (eggplant) just had to go up a (cat). So (boy) and (girl) went to (island). They got everything they wanted, and more. They ate (pasta) and (burger) and (sushi) and drank (coffee) and (soda) and even a little (red wine). They walked around the (island) where they found (art) and (jewelry) and (flowers) and (ocean). They fell deeper and deeper in (red heart). The stuff that happened in the (bed) was (rainbow) and super fucking (exclamation point). They got bonded like (magnet). Because (boy) learned to fuck like a (snail). As for (girl), it was (big smile) all the way. Because a (boy) has to take care of his (girl) like she’s a precious (seashell). That’s the rule._

_Anyways, thanks for making this the best road trip of my life, my (girl). This is only the beginning of (red heart) and (couple kissing) and (eggplant) and (cat), believe you me. If Apple had Alex emojis, I’d fill several screens with them. Cuz that’s how much I (red heart) you. (100)_

You kiss Alex right on his classically beautiful nose. He looks startled, but deep down inside he knows he was going to get it. He’s going to get all the good that you have inside you, forever. Because he’s Alex. What other reason does he need?

 


End file.
